


Undercover

by sm_jl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, HPRomione Discord's ROMioneCOM Challenge, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Sharing a Bed, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sm_jl/pseuds/sm_jl
Summary: “Look, she did agree to this. So what are you worried about?" Harry asked. "That you can’t share a room with her without killing her, or that you can’t share a room without shagging her?”Ron and Hermione go undercover at a couple's resort to track down a resurgence of Death Eaters.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 31
Kudos: 64
Collections: RomioneCom





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again friends! Here is my contribution to the ROMioneCOM movement. It's (very very) loosely inspired by Mr. and Mrs. Smith, but really only in the sense that it involves Ron and Hermione taking down bad guys together. I've never actually seen the movie, but I was volunteered for this project, so here we are lol.
> 
> Anyway, happy Valentine's Day to you all! Hope you enjoy!

“So, er…” Ron glanced surreptitiously down at the paper in front of him. He’d met so many women today that he’d long ago lost track of all their names. “Amy. What do you like to do for fun?”

“Well,” she began with a smile, “when I’m not working, I’m usually playing sports.”

Ron sat up a little straighter in his chair, interested. “Yeah? You like Quidditch?”

“Oh, no, I _hate_ Quidditch.” Ron fought off a sigh. This speed dating thing had been a horrible idea. He tried to catch Harry’s eye across the room, but his best mate and Auror partner was deep in conversation with their boss. “I’m mostly into muggle cricket. Do you know it?”

“No,” Ron replied shortly. “Look, it was really nice to meet you, but I...uh...will you excuse me?” He rose from his seat without waiting for an answer and marched over to Harry and Robards.

“Well?” Robards asked expectantly, while Harry fought off a grin. “Have you found yourself a wife?”

“Sir,” Ron began through gritted teeth, “with all due respect, I don’t think this is going to work. I’ve spent five minutes with every female Auror in the department this afternoon, and I don’t think anybody is going to believe that I’m married to one of them. There’s just no spark.”

“Look, Weasley, it’s just a mission. We need a team undercover as a couple.”

“Why doesn’t Harry just take Ginny, then?”

Robards raised an eyebrow at him. “Did you miss the part where I said _undercover_? You want me to send Harry-freaking-Potter on a top-secret mission with the single-season scoring record holder of the British-Irish Quidditch League?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” Ron sighed heavily. “Listen, the poor girl doesn’t actually have to marry you, Weasley. Just pick someone. I’ll expect your fake wife’s name by the end of the day tomorrow so we can get her briefed on the case.” Robards clapped Ron on the shoulder and strode out of the room.

“Rough luck, mate,” Harry said as they followed into the hallway, though his tone wasn’t as sympathetic as Ron would have appreciated.

“All the blokes in the Aurors, and I’m the one going on a couples retreat,” Ron grumbled, heading for the cafeteria. “Remind me again how I got stuck with this assignment?”

“Ironically, because you’re the only one with high enough clearance who's single,” Harry pointed out. “Not sure Ginny, or any of the other wives for that matter, would take too kindly to their husbands going on holiday with another woman. Even if it is just pretend.”

“That’s all well and good, but those last few were from the training class. I may as well not even have a partner on this for all the good it’ll do me to take one of them.” Ron grabbed a ready-made sandwich and a gillywater and headed for the checkout counter.

Harry rolled his eyes, trailing behind with his afternoon tea. “You’ll have a partner. You’ll be fine. Look, of the lot, which one would you be least likely to turn your wand on before the mission is over? That’s really all you’ve got to ask yourself.”

“Oh, real helpful, Harry,” Ron retorted sarcastically.

“Oh, I hope that’s not a theme today,” a familiar voice piped up behind them. Hermione had snuck up with a cup of tea in one hand and a file in the other, brandishing the latter at Harry. “Harry, we’ve got to go over your testimony for the Peterson trial. It’s next week.”

“We’ll get to it,” Harry said, taking the file and tucking it dismissively under his arm.

“You’ve been saying that for three days,” Hermione replied impatiently, snatching it back and opening it in front of him. “I’ve finally had to resort to tracking you two down at your ritualistic afternoon snack.”

“Stalking me, are you, Hermione?” Ron teased.

She winked back. “You wish.”

“Oh, come on, we both know you can’t resist me.”

“In your dreams.”

“Hang on.” Harry looked up from the file, glancing between the two of them. “Hermione, d’you s’pose that you could help Ron out with a little problem he’s having?”

Ron caught the gleam in Harry’s eye immediately. “No.”

Hermione looked up at him, her face full of innocent concern. “What’s going on, Ron? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Harry’s just going to head back to his office and read over the Peterson file, _aren’t you_?” Ron said pointedly, though Harry was steadfastly ignoring him.

“Come on, it’s a perfect solution.”

“Oh, I could think of a few reasons why it’s not.”

Hermione crossed her arms, still looking at Ron, and gave a beleaguered sigh. “Anytime the two of you would like to fill me in would be wonderful.”

“Number one being, she’s not even an Auror,” Ron continued to Harry, ignoring Hermione for the time being. “What is Robards going to say?”

“You know, I’m very happy in my chosen career, but I’m oddly offended by that, and you could at least tell me _why_.”

Ron sighed and turned back to Hermione. “Robards has got a lead on that new cell of Death Eaters we’ve been looking for. Thinks they’re using this resort down at Brighton Beach as a sort of headquarters, and he wants to send a team to investigate, try and get some intel on what they’re planning.”

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. “That doesn’t sound so bad. How can I help?”

“It’s a couples resort. One of those swanky all-inclusive sort of places. I’ve been interviewing potential fake wives all afternoon to take with me on the mission.”

“Interviewing?” Harry scoffed. “What an unromantic way to talk about how you met your future wife.”

“Right, because _nearly got her killed by a troll_ is a better how we met story?” Ron retorted with a vague gesture at Hermione.

“Technically, how we _met_ is that I was looking for a lost toad, but I suppose the troll story is a bit more interesting to share with the other guests.” Hermione smiled at him.

“Wait, you...would you actually do this with me?” Ron asked incredulously. On the one hand, Hermione was his best friend; he trusted her with his life, and had done, quite literally, on plenty of occasions. Though she hadn’t chosen the Auror path as he and Harry had, Ron knew that she was more than capable in the field, and would be a suitable partner with him on this case.

On the other hand, going on a couples vacation, even a fake one, with the woman who was also his ex-girlfriend was surely a very terrible idea.

“Well, presuming that Robards isn’t insistent on you taking someone who’s _actually_ an Auror,” Hermione said slowly, “and presuming that I could get someone else to cover my caseload while I’m gone...sure. If it would help you out, of course I would.”

They stared at each other silently for a moment until Harry clapped his hands together. “Well, there we go. Problem solved.” He held up Hermione’s file and grinned at them. “Now if you two lovebirds will excuse me, I’m just going to head back to my office and read over the Peterson file.”

Ron waited until Harry was sufficiently out of earshot to turn back to Hermione. “You sure about this?”

“Ron,” she said seriously. “You’re my best friend, and I know how important catching these guys is to you. If I can help, I want to. Really.” She put a hand on his arm and looked up at him earnestly, her sincerity both soothing his nerves and wreaking havoc on his heart. He took a deep breath.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Anytime. I’ve got to get back to work, but let me know what Robards says, yeah?” Hermione gave him a final smile as she turned and headed out of the cafeteria.

Ron went the opposite direction, marching straight to Harry’s office. His best mate didn’t even flinch when he slammed the door, his nose already deep in Hermione’s report. “You said you wanted a spark,” Harry said jovially, not even looking up from the file.

“I said a spark, not a towering inferno,” Ron argued, rankled by Harry’s tone. “And you said the person I’d least likely want to turn my wand on.”

“This is Hermione we’re talking about, yeah?” Harry glanced up just long enough to quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Hermione who I rowed with through six straight years of Hogwarts, nine months in a tent, and at least half of our failed relationship?” Ron retorted. “Yeah. Hermione.”

Harry waved him off. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Ron rolled his eyes and flopped into the chair across from Harry’s desk. “Hell of a revisionist history you have there, Potter.”

“Well, what’s the alternative? Take Amy from the cricket league?” Ron groaned. “Maybe Robards will say no.”

“Robards will see it as yet another opportunity to sway Hermione to come over from legal and you know it.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll retire then, and Hermione can be your new partner full-time,” Harry teased before setting the file aside to focus on Ron. “Look, she _did_ agree to this. So what are you worried about? That you can’t share a room with her without killing her, or that you can’t share a room without shagging her?”

Ron didn’t answer immediately; it had always been a thin line with them. “Hermione and I worked really hard to rebuild our friendship after things fell apart,” he said diplomatically. “I just don’t want this to mess up all the progress we’ve made.”

“So don’t let it. Just keep your wand to yourself. Both wands, matter of fact.” Harry chuckled at his own joke, and Ron rolled his eyes again as he stood.

“You’re an idiot. I’m going to talk to Robards.”

“You hoping he’ll say yes or hoping he’ll say no?” Ron scowled at him and turned to leave. “That’s not an answer!” Harry called after him, and Ron could hear him laughing halfway down the hall.

He wanted Hermione to be by his side on this one, he really did. The chemistry they shared would make for a much more convincing cover as a married couple than the lack of rapport he’d had with any of his fellow Aurors—a couple of whom he had also casually dated in the two years since his split from Hermione. But it was more than that, of course. It had always been more than that, with her.

Ron knocked on Robards’ door and opened the door after a grunt of acknowledgement from the other side. “Sir?”

“Ah, Weasley. Who’s the lucky lady?”

Ron sat down opposite his boss, his knee bouncing nervously. “Well, Harry and I had a thought about who I should take on the mission.”

“Listen, I know the training class candidates aren’t ideal, but I can see about sending you with backup if—“ Ron shook his head, cutting him off.

“It’s not that. It’s...what d’you think about Hermione Granger coming along?”

“Granger?” he repeated, leaning back in his chair and regarding Ron curiously. “Think you’ll have a hell of a time convincing her. Been trying to recruit her for an Auror post since Kingsley first offered it to you three after the war.”

“Actually, sir...she’s already said she’ll go if you give it the okay.”

“No kidding? Well, in that case, consider it done. I’ll make the necessary arrangements with her department for her time away. McClellan owes me a favor, anyway.”

“You don’t mind that she’s not an Auror?”

Robards shrugged and shook his head. “I know she’s capable. And I know she’ll have your back down there.” He paused. “You do understand, posing as a couple, that we’ll be booking you one room?”

Ron held back a smirk at the obvious statement. “Of course. I understand. She does, too.”

“Well, then. You and Potter give her a rundown of the case. We’ll have you down there by this weekend.” Ron nodded and stood, but Robards halted him before he could exit the office. “I know this one is going to feel like a vacation, but don’t forget what these bastards are capable of. You make sure you’ve got her back, too.”

The mental images from the war that he’d never quite shaken flashed through Ron’s mind. “Always.”

He struggled to focus when he got back to his office, but it was nearly five anyway, so Ron didn’t feel too terrible about shoving off early and meandering down to Hermione’s office. Her desk was in its usual, perpetual state of organized chaos, and she looked up only briefly when Ron knocked on her open door. “Got a minute?”

“Yes, of course, come in.” She pushed one stack of papers to the side and slid another pile to the forefront of her desk. “I’m just trying to get everything organized before we leave.”

“Oh, so you heard already?” Ron asked, taking a seat across from her.

Hermione nodded. “I heard. I’m quite excited, actually. It’ll be just like old times, you and I tracking down bad guys. Of course, it will be nice to be properly prepared this time. Never was easy when we were kids, was it?” Hermione finally paused for a breath and looked up at him, taking in the somber expression on his face with a frown. “What?”

“I know it’s sort of like a vacation, what we’re doing,” Ron said slowly, echoing Robards’ cautionary words. “But these are dangerous people, Hermione. I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“Of course I do. Besides, I trust you.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “Ron, we’ve looked out for each other since we were eleven years old. We’ve had lots of practice.”

“Alright, alright.” Ron held his hands up in surrender. “Listen, we’ll do a full debrief of the case tomorrow with Harry, including our cover stories. Robards wants us down there at the weekend. I know it’s a bit short notice, but—”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, I’ve already started a packing list.” Hermione held up a parchment full of her swirling handwriting, and Ron grinned at her.

“Always prepared, aren’t you?”

She smiled back and shook her head. “One of us had to be.”

“Well, I suppose in that case, there’s only one thing left to take care of…” Ron was halfway to his knee before he realized what a terrible idea he’d just begun, but he couldn’t back out or it would only be worse. Fortunately, though, Hermione was only laughing, completely oblivious to the way his heart was now pounding. “Hermione Jean Granger, will you fake-marry me?”


	2. Chapter 2

Although he was still several minutes early, Ron was the last of the trio to arrive in the briefing room the following morning. Harry was sitting at the head of the table sifting through the case file, while Hermione had several sheafs of blank parchment laid out in front of her as she absently nibbled the end of a quill. Instantly, he was back in the library at Hogwarts, more intently studying her than he had ever done his books. Shaking the thought, he took a seat next to Hermione and passed her the coffee he’d brought. She smiled at him and lifted the lid slightly to sniff it. “Hazelnut, two creams, no sugar,” Ron promised.

“You remember,” she said, though she sounded more pleased than surprised.

“ ‘course. What kind of fiancé would I be if I didn’t?” Ron teased.

At the end of the table, Harry rolled his eyes. “Regretting this suggestion already. Where’s mine?”

Ron shrugged unapologetically and sipped at his coffee. “You’ve got your own wife. Have her bring you coffee.”

Harry sighed and slid two thick folders down the table to Ron and Hermione. “The man we think is in charge is Alfonso Berisha. He wasn’t a Death Eater in the traditional sense on the first go-round, but he was definitely a sympathizer. We believe he’s using this resort to pull in support internationally.”

“He’s not British, then?” Hermione asked, flipping through the file.

Harry shook his head. “He’s Albanian, but he’s been in England on and off since the first war. We think he may have had ties to Voldemort when he was hiding out in Albania, but we haven’t gotten anything concrete on him. He was suspected of involvement with several crimes against Muggles in the late eighties, but Albanian authorities were never able to bring charges against him.” Ron saw Hermione stiffen slightly and he reached over to give her hand a gentle squeeze. “We’re not trying to make a move here, remember,” Harry went on, and Ron sensed the warning was more for his benefit than Hermione’s. “This is strictly reconnaissance.”

“What is it you’re looking for? As far as information goes?” Hermione asked, quirking an eyebrow at Harry.

“We need to know exactly what he’s planning, who his contacts might be. Especially if he’s got any in London.”

“Hang on,” Ron interrupted abruptly. He already knew the information about Berisha, so instead had flipped to the portion of the file about his cover story. “What kind of a cover name is _Dave_?” Next to him, Hermione giggled. “Oh, think that’s funny, do you?” he asked indignantly, though her laughter was infectious as he turned on her. “What am I to call you, then?”

Hermione turned the pages until she reached the information about her own alias, sending a glare toward Harry. “You think I look like a _Chloe_?”

Harry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I don’t write the cover stories. Can we focus on the mission, please?”

“Of course, Harry. Chloe and I are sorry,” Ron replied, though he was struggling to keep a straight face as Hermione was now glaring at him.

“How is it you two were less annoying when you were an _actual_ couple?” Harry complained with a roll of his eyes before diving back into the report.

The three of them spent most of the day going over all the information they had compiled on their target, and the information they hoped to gain on the mission. They had just begun discussing their aliases when Harry finally, awkwardly, broached the obvious. “Dave and Chloe are, as you know, engaged.”

Ron and Hermione rolled their eyes in tandem. “Yes, Harry, we know,” Hermione replied patiently, though with just the faintest hint of annoyance in her tone.

“I’m just saying. You know. Posing as a couple, you two will only have to kiss about a thousand times.”

Hermione scoffed as Ron retorted cheerily, “Maybe one of us will die.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but Hermione was clearly not amused, turning her indignation on Ron. “You’d rather _die_ than kiss me?” she exclaimed, smacking him on the arm.

“I wouldn’t _rather_ die, I’m just saying these are dangerous people, and maybe one of us _will_ die,” he replied logically.

Hermione sat back in her chair with a huff and crossed her arms. “Thanks, Ron. Appreciate that.”

“Oh, come on, I’m just taking the mickey out of Harry,” he said, turning to her imploringly. “Obviously, we’ll have to act like a couple. It didn’t need saying.” Hermione scowled at him, but she turned her attention back to the file without any further comment.

“Uh…” Harry shifted awkwardly in his chair. “Anyway. You’ll need a ring, of course. Hermione, do you have anything you could wear as an engagement ring?” Hermione’s raised eyebrow and Ron’s accompanying snort gave Harry all the answer he needed. “Alright, then, take her down to evidence before you leave tomorrow. I’m sure you can borrow something from there. You shouldn’t need any details about wedding plans; you’re on this trip to celebrate your engagement, so it’s recent. Just make sure whatever you’re telling people, if anything, keep it consistent between the two of you.”

“We’ll keep it simple,” Ron promised. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. Ginny wants the two of you over for dinner tonight,” Harry said as he gathered his papers together.

“She knows this is not a _real_ engagement, right?” Hermione quipped.

“She knows. But you’ll be gone for two weeks, she just wants to give you a proper send-off. And I was told not to take no for an answer.”

“But I’ve still got to pack,” Ron protested.

Hermione sighed. “Ron, we leave _tomorrow_.”

“Yeah, and I only just found out I was going yesterday.”

“No, _I_ only just found out I was going yesterday. You’ve known for a week at least.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know who I was going _with_.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want some poor girl I barely know to see me in my old ratty Cannons pyjamas, now would I?”

“Oh, but _I_ get the old ratty pyjamas. I see how it is.” Hermione’s tone had turned teasing, so Ron figured he could get away with what he said next.

“Nah, may as well not even pack pyjamas with you coming, I’ll just sleep starkers. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Oi!” Harry interjected, as Hermione flushed pink. “Save the dirty talk for your vacation.” Harry stood and grabbed his file.”Or, shit, at least wait until I’m out of the room,” he muttered as an aside. “Dinner’s at seven.”

Ron wasn’t sure what exactly to pack for a beach vacation, other than a ton of sun potion, so he pulled his summer clothes out at random and threw them into a suitcase. Hermione had probably packed meticulously, as she always did. He couldn’t stop thinking about their conversation that afternoon during the briefing. It was odd, really, how much Hermione would flirt with him now, and how much she accepted in return. They’d spent so much time in their youth hiding their feelings for each other, and then so much of their relationship had been in the post-war trenches of grief that there hadn’t been time for lighthearted banter, but ever since they had broken up, their communication had evolved into something entirely different. And yet, it still served as a wall that held in their actual feelings for one another.

Then there was what Harry had said. Obviously, Ron knew that they would have to act like a couple, but he hadn’t stopped to give much thought to what exactly that would entail. What would it be like to kiss Hermione again after all this time? He was, quite honestly, terrified, but also eager to find out.

Once he felt satisfied that he had packed enough for two weeks, Ron zipped the suitcase shut and banished it to his office at the Ministry, where they would depart from shortly before lunch tomorrow. It was only six-thirty, but he was sure Harry and Ginny wouldn’t mind him coming over a bit early, so he went ahead and Flooed to Grimmauld Place, only to hear Hermione’s laughter ringing up from the basement kitchen. “Ron? That you?” Ginny called up the stairs.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Ron stepped into the kitchen and took the glass of wine Hermione passed him. “Thought you said seven?”

“I just came over early to borrow a couple of things from Ginny for the trip,” Hermione replied. “Get all your packing done?” Ron nodded. “Pyjamas too?” she teased.

Ron grinned. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

“What are—” Ginny started, but Harry cut her off.

“Don’t ask.”

“Master Harry!” Kreacher scurried down the stairs into the room. “You have, I believe, a boggart up in the drawing room cabinet.”

Harry set his glass down and went to follow Kreacher. “Back in a few,” he said to the others.

Ginny turned the wine bottle up over Hermione’s dwindling glass, only to find it empty. “Bugger. We started drinking too early.” She sighed and chucked the bottle into the rubbish bin. “I’ll run out and get another.”

“Gin, it’s fine, honestly,” Hermione assured her, but Ginny was already halfway up the stairs.

“It’s just the other end of the block. I’ll be right back. Don’t let dinner burn.”

Ron rolled his eyes as his sister disappeared into the front hallway, followed a moment later by the slam of the front door. Hermione glanced shyly at him and said, “I know it’s not a vacation, but I actually am quite excited to do this with you.”

He wasn’t going to get a better opening than that, he reckoned, and as long as they were alone… “I was thinking,” he began. “About...what Harry said earlier.”

Hermione looked at him curiously. “What about it?”

“Well, it has been a while since you and I have kissed. Do you think maybe we ought to...y’know, practice, before we go?”

Hermione barked a laugh, but her cheeks were reddening, giving her away. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not a line.” Ron took a step closer to her. “Just saying, I don’t want our cover blown because we have to kiss in public and end up looking all awkward doing it.”

“Hmm. I suppose that’s true.” Hermione drained the rest of her wine glass in one swallow and set it down before moving in front of Ron. “Okay. Practice.”

Ron tentatively put one hand on her waist, tugging her closer. Hermione put her hands on his shoulders and giggled. “What’s so funny?” Ron asked.

“Oh, I just feel so silly,” she replied, laughing harder as she took his other hand and placed it on the other side of her waist.

“Well, see then, aren’t you glad we’re doing this now, without an audience?” Ron couldn’t stop the nervous chuckle that escaped him as well.

“Yes, actually. Yes I am.” Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself, and once she looked up at him, all trace of humor was gone from her expression. Ron paused to make sure she was comfortable as she raised onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his, softly at first, just a test. When her lips met his the second time, there was no hesitation. Ron kissed her back firmly, his hands sliding around to her back as her hands moved up to tangle in his hair. She was the one to deepen the kiss, her tongue sweeping against his lips, and he opened his mouth to hers, responding in kind. As his hand drifted down of its own accord to slip into the back pocket of her jeans, Ron nearly forgot that this was all for show. It was much, _much_ too easy to get caught up in kissing her, like no time had passed at all.

Hermione broke away suddenly with a gasp and looked up at him, breathing heavily. “Well,” she said primly, tugging nervously at the hem of her shirt. “Suppose that won’t be a problem for us, then.”

“Er, right. No big deal.” Ron ran a hand through his hair, attempting to flatten it after Hermione’s passionate assault.

“Right.”

“Right.”

The front door opened again, and Ginny called out, “Told you it’d be quick!” As Hermione moved to pick up her empty glass, decidedly avoiding eye contact with him, Ron found himself hoping that his sister had picked up something stronger than wine. This mission was going to be harder than he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting in honor of our favorite redhead - happy birthday Ron!

Admittedly, it wasn’t all _that_ unusual for Ron to wake up in need of a cold shower after having a dream about Hermione. It had happened quite a bit more frequently right after they had broken up, nearly two years ago now, but she was still the star of his occasional nocturnal fantasy.

What was unusual about this one—in which the snog they had shared the night before had gone _much_ further—was the fact that in a few short hours, they were heading off on a very real trip together, where they would share one very real bed, and pretend to act like a very real couple.

As he rolled over with a groan, Ron supposed he should have been grateful that his subconscious had chosen the night before the mission to paint these images in his head, and not during it. He made a mental note to grab a vial of dreamless sleep potion from the bathroom cabinet; it wouldn’t do to have Hermione waking up next to him in such a state.

He showered quickly before flooing to the Ministry, arriving earlier than he normally would so that he had time for one final review of the case file before heading down to meet Hermione at evidence. The file was sitting on his desk right where he had left it, but there was a scrap of parchment sitting atop it with a note in Harry’s scribbling handwriting: 

_Called in a favor with the paperwork team. Don’t make me change it again_ . _-H_

Ron grinned as he flipped open the file, revealing his new identification as Owen, fiancé to Emily. The name still didn’t exactly suit him, but it was better than having to go through the next two weeks as _Dave_ , and he thought Hermione would consider her new alias an improvement as well.

“You owe me one.” Ron rolled his eyes as he turned to face Harry.

“You’re the reason we’re in this in the first place, so let’s call it even?” he volleyed back, leaning against his desk with the file in his hands. Harry chuckled.

“Alright, fair enough. Feeling alright about everything?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ron shrugged in what he hoped was a casual manner. “I mean, it’s...and we’re…” He made a vague gesture with his hands as Harry quirked an eyebrow. “You know, it’s only two weeks. It’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry returned skeptically. “Look, I don’t want to stir things up with you and Hermione. There’s still time to tell Robards—” Ron shook his head to cut him off.

“No, look, you were right. Hermione’s the best woman for this job.” Ron gave another, more convincing, shrug as he continued. “She and I have a history that’s going to lend credibility to our aliases, and at least this way, I won’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Why would you sleep on the floor?”

“ _Oi, Amy, I know we’ve only known each other three days, but how about sharing a blanket?_ ” Ron snorted sarcastically. “No, trust me. We’re going to be fine.”

“Alright. Well, I’m heading up to legal to go over this testimony with the bloke who’s working Hermione’s cases while you’re gone. Anything you want me to pass along to your blushing bride?” Harry asked with a grin.

“You’re insufferable.”

“That’s what you want me to tell her?”

“ _Out_ , Harry.”

Harry gave him a light punch on the shoulder and said, more seriously, “You lot be safe. I’ll see you when you get back.” Ron nodded as Harry left, and then checked his watch. He had just enough time to swing down to the cafeteria for a coffee run before meeting Hermione.

When he arrived on the third floor, he found Hermione already waiting, chatting with the witch who managed the evidence storage. “Morning,” he called to them.

Hermione turned and smiled at him, and then she glanced down at the coffees he was holding and frowned. “I brought coffee too. Figured I owed you one,” she said, nodding at the two Ministry cups sitting on the desk in front of her.

“Oh. You don’t owe me anything, but thanks.” He extended the two drinks that he had brought to Gina. “You drink coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks, Ron.” He caught Hermione’s eyes flicker between the two of them, but her smile returned as Ron took the drink she had brought and took a sip. She remembered how he took his coffee, too; the thought brought a smile to his face. “I was just telling Hermione, you should be able to find what you’re looking for on the third shelf from the back. If you need any help, let me know, and when you pick something, just bring it back out to me. You know the drill.”

“Of course. Thanks, Gina. We won’t be long.” Hermione followed Ron into the evidence storage room, letting the door swing shut loudly behind her.

“She seems nice,” Hermione ventured as they made their way to the back of the room.

“Yeah, she’s cool. Reminds me a bit of you, actually,” Ron said, weaving through the shelves. “She knows every inch of this place like the back of her hand, it’s like you and the library. You need something, Gina knows exactly where to find it.”

“Hmm.”

Ron turned to face her. “What?”

“Nothing.” But she wasn’t quite looking at him, her eyes darting around at all the neatly labeled boxes. “Something going on there, then?”

“What, between me and Gina?”

Hermione brushed past him, still not meeting his eyes. “Third from the back, she said?”

Ron laughed lightly as he followed her. If Hermione had been jealous of anyone he had been out with since they broke up, she hid it well; this was a side of her he hadn’t seen since Hogwarts. “There’s nothing going on there.”

“I’m just saying, you seem to like her. She’s very pretty, and obviously intelligent.”

“We just work together. She’s good at her job.” Ron watched Hermione as she stopped at the shelf Gina had directed them to, but beyond that, she had hit a wall for where to look, though she was still determinedly facing away from him, pretending to contemplate the boxes in front of her. “What if there was, though?” Ron asked. “Would that be a problem for you?”

“No, don’t be silly, of course not,” Hermione replied with a curt shake of her head. Ron sighed. She was obviously sorry she had said anything, so he decided to let her off the hook. For now. He reached over her head and pulled down a box full of jewelry, setting it down on a table nearby before he began to pull out the relevant contents. “Why does the Auror department have all of this, anyway?” she asked as she watched him, curiosity taking over her discomfort. “Is it really all criminal evidence?”

“Not necessarily. A lot of it is actually unclaimed estate rubbish.”

Hermione frowned as he retrieved another box. “Meaning?”

“Remember how long it took before the Minister actually gave us the things Dumbledore had bequeathed us, after he died?” Hermione nodded. “Well, it’s still the same, unfortunately. The department screens everything, and a lot of families just never come to get the belongings. So they wind up here.”

“That’s horrible.” He could practically see the gears turning in Hermione’s head, the call of a poorly-written law for her to amend, and he waved a hand to bring her attention back to him. She scowled at him briefly, then reached for a handful of the small clear evidence pouches as she said, “Fine, but you’ll tell me more about this once we’re at the resort?”

“We’ll be _working_ once we’re at the resort,” he reminded her.

“Twenty-four hours a day?” she returned. “You can save it for pillow-talk.” Her comment had his mind once again flooded with images from his dream the night before, and he forced them away as he dug through the second box.

They worked in silence for several minutes, Ron setting aside rings he thought Hermione might be willing to wear, while she slid her own pile of options on and off her third finger. Finally, she held her left hand out for his inspection. “What do you think about this one?”

“ _You’re_ the one who has to like it, Hermione,” he pointed out without looking.

“I’m asking your opinion.”

He turned to examine the ring she was wearing and couldn’t stop the surprised “oh” that escaped him. It was quite gaudy compared to the simple jewelry Hermione normally wore, when she wore any at all, and he was suddenly glad he’d never actually gotten to the point of presenting her with an engagement ring, because his estimation of what she wanted was clearly _way_ off. “It’s not—“ He cut himself off abruptly. “It’s fine.”

“You hate it.”

“What’s it matter what I think?”

“I’m just _asking_ , Ron. You started to say something, it’s not _what_?”

“It’s not...er…” Ron glanced at his pile of rings, all horribly basic in comparison. None of them were _exactly_ what he had imagined proposing to Hermione with, but he’d have never gone for the ring she was currently sporting. Maybe he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did. “It’s not what I’d’ve picked for you,” he admitted finally.

Her lips parted slightly as she looked up at him. “I’m not picking a ring for _me_ ,” she said softly. “I’m picking a ring for Chloe, my lofty pureblood alias.”

“Oh,” Ron said again, feeling silly now. “Right, then that one’s great, I s’pose. It’s Emily now, by the way.”

“What?”

“Harry changed our aliases. You’re Emily, and I’m Owen.”

“No more Dave?” Hermione asked with a sly smile.

Ron shook his head and nodded to her hand. “That’s the one, then? If you’re all sorted, we can—“ He had started gathering the other options back together to return to their boxes, but Hermione’s hand on his arm halted him.

“Can I see?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper now.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The line between the mission and reality had already started to blur and they hadn’t even left yet. Showing her the engagement rings he had picked out—very much with _her_ in mind, no thoughts of the imaginary Chloe anywhere to be found—could only exacerbate things, whether she loved or hated his selections.

“Please? I mean…” She picked anxiously at one fingernail, no longer looking at him. “It’s just a ring, right?”

Ron gave a huff and turned back to his pile, grabbing one of the rings at random. He realized as he handed it to her, though, that this one had caught his eye more so than the others: it was a soft shade of gold—goblin-made silver wouldn’t do for Hermione, of course—with an intricately twisted band that looped around to frame the stone in the middle. It was beautiful in an understated sort of way, and when he had thought before about giving a ring to Hermione—because he _had_ thought about it, much more than she probably knew—he had imagined it would be something like this.

Hermione sucked in a breath as she lifted it gently from his fingers. She stared at it for a long moment and then set it down abruptly. “It’s a beautiful ring,” she said, then added quickly, “for someone else.” At that, Ron had every intention of heading straight to Robards and calling the whole thing off, until Hermione squeezed his arm and went on, “Someone who’s not Chloe, I mean.”

“Well...er…” Ron cleared his throat and shoved the ring back into its pouch. “I didn’t pick it out for her, so…” Hermione was clearly choosing not to press him on this uncomfortable topic either, silently watching him pack the little bags away again and replace the boxes on the shelf, though she was biting her lip with the effort of holding in whatever she wanted to say. “Ready?”

Hermione glanced down at the ring she was still wearing, the ostentatious one she’d picked for the trip, and frowned slightly. She shook the expression from her face and took a deep breath, motioning to the door. “Lead the way.”


	4. Chapter 4

The portkey dropped them just outside the gates of the Golden Sphinx, which swung open automatically at their arrival. Hermione looped her arm through Ron’s and allowed him to lead her up the short path to the resort’s front door. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous lobby as they crossed to the registration desk. “Welcome to the Golden Sphinx,” the girl behind the counter said brightly. “Can I take your name, please?”

“Of course. Reservation for Prewett,” Ron replied, glancing around as the young witch looked them up. The decor was even more extravagant than he had expected, but the view to the ocean out the glass back wall of the hotel was gorgeous. There was a dimly lit bar to the left side of the lobby, and although it was still fairly early in the afternoon, it was full of patrons. The benefit of being on holiday, he supposed.

“Here you are,” the girl at the desk said, handing over a pair of ornate keys attached to a miniature version of the two sphinxes out front. “The honeymoon suite.”

“ _Owen_ ,” Hermione squealed, in a very un-Hermione-like voice, as her fingers tightened around his arm. “You didn’t _tell_ me we were staying in the honeymoon suite.”

He glanced down at her with a smile, trying to cover his bewilderment; this was news to him too. “I wanted to surprise you, love.”

“Brilliant,” she returned through a smile that only Ron would recognize for the admonishment that it was.

“There’s no apparition inside the hotel, but your suite has a private lift, just at the end of this hall here.” The girl pointed to the right side of the lobby, and Ron could just make out the golden lift doors next to the plain white ones that must have led to the other floors. “Enjoy your stay.”

Though it was obviously taking a great deal of restraint, Hermione waited until they were upstairs in their lavishly decorated accommodations, and Ron had completed all of his security spells—the ones that would detect things like magically enhanced listening devices, as well as the ones that would shield them from any external interference—before she rounded on him. “The _honeymoon_ suite?” she demanded. “Don’t you suppose that staying in this room might be a bit conspicuous?”

Ron shrugged, trying to ignore the over-the-top romance of the room as he opened his bag and began unpacking. “Robards set it up, reckon he knew what he was doing. We certainly have more privacy up here than in a regular room.” The lift had actually opened up into a short hallway outside their room, and there were no other doors; it seemed as if they had the entire floor to themselves.

Hermione shot a glare at the enchanted pink confetti that danced around the ceiling but acknowledged, “I suppose that’s true. _Finite_.” The confetti froze in midair but didn’t disappear, and Hermione sighed. Ron stifled a laugh as she crossed the room and opened up the double doors to the balcony, the gauzy curtains ruffling with the breeze she let in. “It really is beautiful here, though. Come over and have a look.” She stepped onto the balcony without waiting for him, but he immediately abandoned his efforts to unpack in order to join her.

They both surveyed the busy beachfront below, standing together in comfortable silence. The resort certainly didn’t _seem_ like a place that was ripe for Death Eater activity, but Ron knew they wouldn’t be here if it weren’t. And the unlikely setting made for a perfect cover-up.

“It’s early, yet,” Hermione said, gathering her hair together in her hand to keep it from swirling in the wind. “What would you like to do? Hit the beach? Grab a drink?”

Ron shrugged. “What do _you_ want to do?” he returned.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t do that,” she scolded lightly.

“Do what? You’re more on holiday than I am.” Hermione waved a hand frantically to _shush_ him and then pulled him back into the room and shut the doors, closing them behind the silencing charm Ron had placed on the room.

“It’s _not_ a holiday, Ron, and I’m not going to treat it as such.”

He looked at her in bewilderment. “But you just said—“

“Yes, we should spend time on the beach, and meet the other tourists, and do what we need to do to blend in, but I’m well aware that we’re here on official Auror business. And not being an Auror myself, I need to be especially focused. You brought me as your _partner_ , Ron, and I…” She trailed off, and Ron looked at her curiously. She hadn’t seemed at all nervous about coming on this mission, before they left, and he worried he’d said or done something to make her change her mind. “I don’t want to let you down, that’s all,” she finished finally.

“Hermione,” he sighed, stepping forward to wrap his arms around her. “You’re the most brilliant witch I’ve ever met. I didn’t ask you to come because you’re my best friend. I asked you to come because you’re the right person for this job. And if you don’t believe _me_ , do you really think we’d’ve gotten Robards’ approval if that weren’t true?”

“No, I know, but—“

“No buts,” Ron interrupted, pulling back to look her in the eye. “I trust you. It’s that simple.” She took a deep breath, and he could tell he hadn’t entirely assuaged her fears, but she nodded anyway. “Why don’t we just relax for a bit?” he suggested. “We can unpack, get settled, and then maybe grab a drink before dinner?”

“Okay.” She reached down and gently squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”

Hermione seemed to relax as they settled into the suite, chatting to him about the cases she was working and flipping through the brochure of all the amenities the resort offered. Late in the afternoon, Ron ventured, “They’ll start serving dinner in an hour or so. Reckon we ought to venture down to the bar?”

“Sure. I’ll go get ready.”

Once Hermione had disappeared into the bathroom, Ron walked over to the closet where they had hung everything up and pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it in the general direction of his empty suitcase. He had just done the same with his jeans when Hermione emerged. “Forgot my—“ She halted abruptly, and the denim barely missed her. “Toothbrush.”

“Oh. Right.” She hadn’t moved, though, and Ron bit back a smirk as he realized she was staring at him, as he stood there wearing nothing but his pants. He knew being this close to her for two weeks was going to be a challenge for him, but he hadn’t really thought that it might be the same for her. “Toothbrush?” he prompted her after a moment.

“Huh?” Hermione’s gaze snapped up to meet his, and her cheeks immediately began to flush. “Right. My toothbrush. Of course. I’ll just…” She quickly went to her bag, retrieved the toothbrush, and hurried back into the loo.

Ron had every intention of giving her some good-natured teasing about it, but when she returned again, the words died in his throat. She had swept her hair over one shoulder, leaving exposed the smooth skin of her neck, and she was wearing a deep red dress that clung tightly to her slim figure. He couldn’t help his eyes roving over her, and she pulled anxiously at the fabric as she looked up at him and took in his expression. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” she fretted. “I wanted to get into the spirit of things, but I should—“

“No,” Ron blurted, taking a step towards her to halt her movement toward the closet. “I mean...you look... _er_ …”

Hermione smiled coyly at him and said, “We’re both adults, Ron. You’re allowed to tell me I look nice, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He snorted. “You look bloody gorgeous, but sure, we’ll go with _nice_.”

“Thank you.” She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the dress and then reached for her shoes, slipping into the heels and looking at him expectantly. “Shall we?”

Ron nodded and patted his pocket to make sure he had the room keys before he followed her out the door. He swallowed a groan as he saw for the first time the back of Hermione’s dress—what little of it there was. The lace across her upper back and the uncovered expanse of skin at her lower back told him that there couldn’t be much _under_ her dress either. _Merlin help me_.

The lounge downstairs was even more crowded than it had been at their arrival, and Hermione slipped her hand into his as they wove their way to the bar. “Evening,” the bartender greeted them. “What’ll you have?”

“Ogden’s, please,” Ron said immediately. If they’d had intentions on more than one drink, he wouldn’t have gone for something so strong, but at the moment, the firewhiskey was a necessity.

“Of course, sir. And for your lovely wife?”

“Fiancée,” Hermione corrected him with a giggle, showing off the ostentatious ring on her left hand. “We’ve just got engaged.”

“Congratulations! Allow me to give you one of our signature drinks, then, on the house.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”

One of the stools at the bar opened up, and Hermione slid gracefully onto it, leaving her hand resting lightly on Ron’s arm. The bartender returned a moment later with Ron’s whiskey and a tall, slender glass full of a shimmering gold liquid for Hermione. “Looks like Felix Felicis, doesn’t it?” she said lightly to Ron, taking a sip.

“That’s what we call it, actually,” the bartender said. “Helps you get lucky.” He winked at Ron, and Hermione sputtered on the drink, much to Ron’s amusement.

She recovered quickly though, sliding her hand up Ron’s arm and giving him a sultry smile. “Well, we don’t need drinks for that, do we, darling?”

He leaned over to give her a lingering kiss on the cheek in answer, and the bartender chuckled. “Name’s John. Just give a shout if you need anything,” he said before making his way down the bar to attend to the other patrons.

Ron sipped at his drink and did a quick scan of the room. Everyone there seemed to just be on holiday, same as them. Same as they were pretending to be, anyway. But that was Berisha’s plan, as far as they could tell; to create an international network of witches and wizards who shared his ideals for whatever it was he was plotting.

Dinner was a decidedly normal affair, as well. The food was amazing, and Ron thought if nothing else, at least they would have that to look forward to over the course of two weeks. Plus, if Hermione had packed two weeks’ worth of dresses like the one she was currently wearing.... _well_. Ron, frankly, hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her all night, and it was fortunately making a very convincing show of their cover. He wasn’t sure what Hermione thought, knowing it was a ruse, but she was playing her part just as well, constantly touching his arm or his thigh while she chatted with the older couple they’d been seated with for dinner, sharing his fork for dessert, nudging his foot with hers under the table, where no one could even see.

The waiter had just cleared their plates when the girl from the reception desk approached their table, carrying a bottle of champagne, which she handed over to Ron. “A gift for you, Mr. Prewett.”

“For me?” Ron asked curiously.

“Oh, it must be from Alfie,” Evelyn, their dinner companion, said confidently as she patted Hermione’s arm.

“Alfie?” Hermione repeated, reaching for the bottle.

“Chap who owns the place,” replied Evelyn’s husband, Tom. “We stayed up in the honeymoon suite last year when we came for our fortieth anniversary, and he gave us the royal treatment, didn’t he, love?”

“Yes, it’s a gift from Mr. Berisha,” confirmed the receptionist. “He likes to extend a special welcome to our guests in the honeymoon suite. He would have normally been here himself, but he had some business to attend to tonight.”

Hermione nodded, and though Ron was sure no one else could see through her perfectly arranged expression, she looked, to him, worried as she handed him the card that had been tied to the bottle.

_I pay special attention to the stays of our most honored guests in the honeymoon suite. If your needs are not being met, please alert my staff at once. Welcome to the Golden Sphinx. -Alfonso Berisha_

Ron glanced up at Hermione, who flashed a smile at the receptionist and said, “What a lovely gesture.”

“Yes,” Ron agreed, careful to keep the nerves out of his voice. “Lovely.”

Hermione shifted in her chair, bumping her knee against his, and when their eyes met, Ron knew they were thinking the same thing. Though the intentions behind the message weren’t clear, one thing was certain: they were being watched.


End file.
